A Valentine's Shadow
by MikoNoNyte
Summary: A little war; a little romance, a little wedding.


A Valentine's Shadow

Disclaimer: I don't own Shadow Hearts. 

The events mentioned regarding the war are true, except for Keith's part in it. As always, I thank www.firstworldwar.com for their wonderful information. How I used it is all my fault! And I also admit my Italian is atrocious!

This story started out as a challenge piece on NeoSeeker. It grew some since then, and it is dedicated to Darkness, Kitty, Alice, Matt and Rex. 

Gregor and his family moved into Bistritz just before Christmas, 1915. Their timing was perfect as the very next week a bitter winter storm moved in and buried the area in snow and ice. The roads, never very passable to begin with, were quickly impassable, and the supplies laid by for the winter would have to last.

Michelle and Nina had prepared for winter with bags and barrels put away in the storeroom behind their small shop. Large sacks of legumes and barrels of potatoes, apples and pears along with a few smaller casks of pickled vegetables were stacked neatly in the storeroom; and in the stillroom were the special herbs and medicines, their high value set not only because of their rarity but because Prague was the next town to carry them, leaving Bistritz a prime location to obtain Thera and Mana and a few special healing talismans. 

Since Yuri Hyuga and his friends had passed through in early 1914, the small shop had prospered, as had the whole village. The bag of seeds that Nina's father had received from his friend in America had been planted and the first crops had brought a steady supply of grain and seeds for the next year. They had a small surplus to sell for luxuries and Michelle had invested in teaching books for Nina and the other children in the village. 

Now that winter had closed the passes between the mountain ranges, Michelle started holding her classes. Each day a small handful of children would meet at the store and learn their letters, their numbers, and their history; the later learned more easily with songs. Music would fill the little shop until the mid-afternoon, and then the laughing children would disburse for their warm homes. That was how Nina met Gregor.

His mother, Amelia, brought him by to meet the shop mistress and left him for lessons. Gregor was a silent young man of pale skin and paler eyes, with a little mole marring the otherwise blemish-less cheeks. He hid the blemish under long bangs and hid his eyes as well. They were unusual eyes, an almost transparent green, and Nina thought of her friend, the Lord of the Blue Castle when she saw those eyes. Lord Keith's eyes were that same color except when he used his magicks. Nina thought they were handsome eyes and so she liked Gregor's eyes as well. She made a point of spending time with the boy, trying to pry him lose of his in-born silence. It was a project she could enjoy when not helping her mother.

The winter progressed slowly, one snowy blizzard supplanting another. Sleighs traveled the distance between Bistritz and Prague, carrying additional supplies when needed, as well as any letters. Only one letter had ever arrived that interested Nina; the one addressed to Lord Keith at the castle. She had not been allowed to carry it to him so it sat on the store counter until Lord Keith had come down to visit. He had looked at the small letter and smiled, then frowned, then smiled again and laughed.

"Oh, it's from my friend, Margarete. She says she's traveling through the area and wants to visit. Ah, but that was weeks ago. I suppose I've missed her then," the tall and stately lord said with a shake of his blond head. "How sad; I would have liked the company."

"I'm sorry I couldn't bring it to you, Lord Keith, but the storm..." Nina started only to stop when Keith touched her shoulder.

"It is all right, Nina. It's not your fault. And remember, to you I am Keith, are we not friends?" he asked and when Nina nodded, he continued, "I am only worried that my friend, Margarete, is out in the countryside without companionship. The weather is not the only concern here," he said and changed his worry with a smile.

The months passed, and winter slowly let loose its grip on the countryside; it was early yet for spring, yet the snows of January and February had receded and a few bright days shone on the icy sheets that had once been mountain lakes and threatened the human inhabitants with giddy abandon. Adults shoveled the snow from the town streets and children ran around laughing and dancing, their faces flushed with youth and health.

In his castle, Keith Valentine donned his traveling clothes, covering all with a long wool cloak. He said goodbye to his castle, turning the gate key and hanging it up inside the front door before changing into a large reddish-brown bat and flying away. The sunlight didn't bother him; in fact, it only enhanced his desire to be away. And in the village of Bistritz, Nina looked up sadly to see her friend fly away north. She knew it was Lord Keith as who else would it be? With a sigh, she turned her attention to Gregor who was showing her a bright pebble he had found lodged in a grave in the churchyard.

Keith Valentine's leathery wings were folded up next to his bat-body as he hung from a tree deep in the forest. He wasn't sleeping, he was watching. Watching as soldiers roamed the forest tracks and left not only their marks but their weapons. Land mines were being planted along the trail; a trail that soldiers used; a trail that the locals used as well to get around the mountain passes. These men were sowing death with each step they took. Lord Keith Valentine was not amused. Granted, this was not _his_ forest, and these were not _his_ lands, but in his mind, these were _his_ people. Common men and women and children, and they did not deserve such a fate, even if this was wartime.

Keith released his grip on the branch and flitted to the ground, transforming in a blur of darkness to reveal himself to the soldiers. They were startled and said something to him but with a gesture he dismissed their words.

"You have come here to destroy; you will instead be destroyed. I do not need the sustenance, but you will feed the land none-the-less," he said quietly to them and they reached back for weapons even as Keith pulled his sword from its sheath, humming a soft descant as he did so. Instantly the nearest soldiers wizened within themselves, their bodies becoming desiccated and falling to dust even as the other soldiers realized their danger. One managed to fire off a few rounds of his rifle, striking the vampire lord with his bullets, but they did little damage to one who was not alive. And again, Keith hummed his magic, and the remaining soldiers collapsed, their ashes feeding the soil as their blood joined Keith's own. 

"Pity," he said softly. "But it had to be done." He looked around and spotted a large rock outcropping. This he jumped onto and turned, his sword and sheath in hand. He surveyed the pathway and lifted his sword, humming another descant, this one a little longer, a little more complex, as the notes mixed with the motions of his sword and sheath. Slowly the ground began to rumble, a deep bone jarring, rock-grinding rumble that toppled nearby saplings and sent loose rocks tumbling down the paths. Suddenly the ground opened up, and a huge Hecatoncheire crawled from the deep pits of the earth, its hundred legs smashing and destroying everything they touched, then digging their way back below the earth, taking the explosives with them. With a nod, he re-sheathed Tyrving and surveyed the area. The ground now was torn up but would re-grow in the following months. But his dalliance with these men had delayed him and now he feared he would not find who he was looking for.

Gregor met with Nina outside the eastern gate, his cloth sack in his hands. He was joining her for a quick foray into the dark forest to hunt mushrooms, nuts, and edible roots. Their stocks were getting low and anything else would be a nice addition. The weather was bright if cold, with spring now a few days away, but the sleigh from Prague had been delayed so supper would be porridge again if they didn't find something else. Gregor didn't mind the porridge, he had eaten it his whole life, but it did get boring from time to time. Besides, Gregor liked Nina; she was bright, cheerful, intelligent, and full of stories; stories about vampires; stories about the lord the Blue Castle. Gregor didn't believe the stories, but that didn't stop him from listening.

"Gregor, you came!" Nina cried all gleeful, her nose and cheeks red from the chilly air, matching the red scarf she wore around her head and neck.

"Of course, would I let you come to these dangerous woods all alone?" he said, standing taller and trying to be brave. He wasn't, but no sense in letting her know that.

Nina smiled at him, and gestured to the woods. "Only the wolves are dangerous. But we will have to be careful today; I saw Lord Keith leave the other day, so no one is around."

"Oh? Do you think we should go then? What if we get into trouble?" Gregor asked, looking worriedly at the woods, their bare limbs gnarled and evil looking.

"We'll be all right. I was just there last summer; did I tell you Lord Keith has a rose garden? He does; all beautiful pinks and whites and yellows. I wonder where he got them. Maybe they're for his lady love, do you think?" Nina chattered on as they climbed the hill into the forest.

Gregor followed her quietly, his pale green eyes large in the dim forest and his heart skipping beats in fear of the wolves. The whole time Nina chattered away telling him stories of Lord Keith of Blue Castle; of Yuri the Fighter and his Magical Friends, Princess Alice and Lady Margarete; a dozen more tales added to the others she had already told him. There was no way any of them could be true, but Gregor didn't mind listening; she seemed to love the stories and the people she was talking about, even if they didn't exist.

About an half hour out of the village gate they entered the deep woods, the small tracks leading away and around the mountain on which sat the Blue Castle, winding and twisting into dark corners and dark leafy dells. Nina knelt beneath the nearest gnarled root and dug with her garden spade, digging up mushrooms. She found about a dozen mushrooms and put these in her basket. Meanwhile Gregor went to the next tree and began his search. In a little under an hour they had filled Nina's basket with mushrooms and Gregor's sack with an assortment of winter roots. Nina covered the basket with a cloth and they made their way back through the woods, ending up considerably higher up the path than where they had started. Looking up the mountain, Gregor could see the gates to the castle and Nina squealed with joy.

"I can show you the garden," she cried. "The roses won't be in bloom but you'll love it none-the-less. There's even a fountain," she exclaimed and, grabbing Gregor's hand, they ran up the path.

Just before the gates there was a path leading down to the right; it was paved with small white stones and beyond was a tall iron fence which abutted the southern wall of the castle. In one corner of the fence was an ornate iron gate leading into the garden. The garden was in its early stage of development, yet the gardener had stationed a large fountain in its center, replete with cherubs pouring bubbling froth from Grecian urns. The fountain was not running at this time of year, but there were signs it would soon. Surrounding the fountain were neatly manicured garden patches; a traditional herb garden shaped like a cross in the western corner, the winter herbs nearly gone, but places set ready for the summer herbs; another with fragrant lavenders in the northern corner; and throughout stately rose trees, neatly pruned and sporting early leaves but no buds. 

Nina twirled around near the fountain, and then ran down first one neatly flag-stoned path and back up to travel another. Gregor stood near the fountain, nervous in his trespass and yet delighted to see Nina so happy in a bare garden. 

'Someday ." he thought but stopped it before the thought could speak further what he held tightly within. 

Spring finally arrived in the Carpathians, their snowy peaks turning granite and iron grey in the bright sunlight. In the deep forests men and machines warred, their bombs and guns decimating the lives of man and beast alike as they fought for God and Country. Keith Valentine had stopped in Galicia, his search forestalled by the injustices he met along the way. He hoped to continue his journey, but the death toll of locals made it impossible for him to simply turn his back. Working in darkness, he fought beside the locals, defending villages from the deprivations of both the Austro-Hungarian forces, the Russians, the Serbs; everyone had an agenda, his was to keep his people alive. Bistritz had been his family's home for centuries, but the land had been their home for longer years than man could count. The land was his if not in name then in thought, in emotion; Keith found his vampiric heart beating faster with the excitement of living and fighting again. He had enjoyed his battles with the young Harmonixer, Yuri Hyuga and the others; he had found purpose in his fight against Albert Simon and his summoned God of the Outer Reaches. Now he had purpose again and it thrilled him. And if his actions added a little to the vampire legends of these mountains, then so be it, for Keith Valentine, Ninth Lord of Blue Castle, was in his element.

Later that summer of 1916, the Austro-Hungarian forces under Falconhayn moved south and began a four pronged attack against Rumania; the few forces available to the Rumanians worked diligently, with Allied assistance, to push back the German armies. The Russians under Bruseilov, were pushing the Central Powers at the border of Moldavia and Rumania and the war was turning more and more bloody as newer weapons, stronger cannons, more powerful explosives were brought to the Eastern Front in an effort to not only stop, but destroy the opposing armies. The push of the Western Front had halted with the entrenchment of both sides and the failure for one side or the other to breach the lines; the great mincing machine that was Verdun was underway, with the German army's main objective to bleed the French army dry; the Battle of the Somme as well, with its air bombardment and death tolls in the hundreds of thousands, was killing British and German alike while the mountains and valleys of the Transval and Carpathians quaked to the thunder of the big guns, choked on poisonous gas and added hundreds of thousands more to the death rolls. Rumanian soldiers, poorly armed, faced off against the Germans, and pushed west; the Germans pushed east and the towns in the middle, Jassy, Galatz Fokshani, were reduced to rubble. Every day the land was bathed in the blood of soldiers fighting and dying; and every night Keith and his companions added to the blood, his own magicks wrecking as much havoc as the cannon or big guns.

Finally though, as the summer progressed, Keith had fought his way east then west again, coming to stop with his fellows at the Bruzau ridge, one of only four passes from Austria-Hungary into Rumania. As the carnage of the war played out below him, he looked at the pair of human men who accompanied him. One, a renegade Frenchman, Renne, more at home on the streets strong-arming than on the battlefield; the other was Pipi, an Italian, and a thief. These two had been with him since Jassy when he had turned aside from his personal quest. These two would stay with him whether he will or no. But below, in the pass at Bruzau, ranged the Austio-Hungarian army and little stood between them and their goal of Rumania. Keith shook his head, his tattered blond locks no longer neatly trimmed.

"It is nigh hopeless I think at this point, my friends," he said softly, directing their attention to the forces of Falkenhayn's army laid out in the valley below the pass.

"You want to quit, Lord?" Pipi asked as he idly flipped a thin bladed poniard into the soil at his feet.

"I do not want to, no," Keith answered, watching the blade as it cut the damp soil. The flicking blade fascinated him a moment, the silvery shine of the razor sharp point reminded him of Yuri's claws. "Look below and see what we face. If I thought we had a chance against such odds; but even the Rumanian army cannot face them. I must exercise intelligence in this; I may survive such an encounter, but you would not," he said pointedly.

Renne grunted as he squatted down, using a stick to punch a line of holes into the moist soil at this feet. "So then what, M'lord. Do we scurry back to our caves and quiver in fear while the Boche run amok? If I die, I die; but let it be facing my enemy, not running away."

"Sì, quello è allineare, il mio amico. I, un ladro, piuttosto ruberebbe i gioielli della signora; ma che cosa se il suo marito arriva, eh?" [i]

Keith sighed and looked at these two who refused to be sensible. "Very well, but understand, my friends, I came here to find someone. If I have word of this person, I will need to leave; but not yet." Keith paused, thinking of his aborted search, then, "So, Renne, you are good at harrying the local thugs; what would you suggest for these interlopers?"

Renne stood up from his squat and stepped into the shadow of a nearby tree, allowing him a free view of the pass below. To the north, the Russian was army defending its borders, while in the south the German 9th army under Falkenhayn, with its men and guns grinding their way toward Szurduk Vulkan, Rother Thurm, Predeal and Bruzau passes, were heading for a bloody confrontation with the Rumanian 1st, and 2nd armies. They had already employed their gas attacks against the defending Rumanians in the Carpathians east of these, the Transylvanian mountains, to great effect, weakening the already ill-equipped Rumanian 4th army and setting it up for defeat by the Germans under Franz Joseph. Now, amassed to take the four passes, the army looked formidable, invincible, and untouchable.

"If we could take the ground away from them, Lord, then perhaps." Renne said quietly, considering his words carefully. He knew better than to suggest too strongly the use of his friend's uncanny abilities. Keith had warned him before when they had confronted the enemy and Renne had assumed that the young lord would use his powers to simply eliminate the threat.

Keith joined him in the shadow of the tall pine, his own pale green eyes piercing the distance with little difficulty. Along the near ridge were the advance troops, their vehicles, and weapons emplacements already promising defeat for any foe so foolish enough to venture into the pass. Keith sighed.

"Perhaps you are right, my friend. And will you _please _call me Keith? I have told you before."

"Yes, but it is uncomfortable, even for one as I, to call you by your given name, Lord Keith. Um, Keith," Renne said and his voice descended to a near growl with frustration and chagrin.

"I will cross the ridge beyond and use my Hecatoncheire; but you and Pipi must get away, back toward Fokshani."

"It will be that powerful, Lord?" Pipi asked.

"Perhaps; or perhaps I will give them a Gift. Either way, it will mean death and destruction for those below, and I would have you safe from the deprivations."

Both Renne and Pipi nodded their reluctant agreement and turned to climb the pass, heading southeast along the ridge until they dropped down to the road for Fokshani. They both had seen Lord Keith use his mysterious magicks before but both had also agreed to never speak of it, even between them; Keith was a quiet man who respected them and they offered their respect in return by not having him as a topic for discussion. Once they reached the crossroad, they took shelter behind a copse of stunted trees, to wait.

Keith continued to watch the pass until he knew his companions had successfully left the area. He listened to their whispered voices and their heavy human steps as they climbed up out of the pass and out of his hearing before he headed across the ridge. The distance was traversed with great speed as Keith used his inherent strength to leap over any obstacles in his way and revert, temporarily, to a bat to flit across the gorge. Once on the other side he took his stand at the crest of the ridge and pulled his sword from its sheath. Tyrving glittered in the afternoon light, the sun catching on the rubies encrusting the sheath and the giant emerald on the haft. Keith looked down at the demon blade in his hand and sighed softly. He remembered his battles alongside Yuri and Alice and Zhuzhen. Those battles had brought him a renewal of interest in life and a sense of purpose that he had been missing for centuries. Now he was acting once again for the greater good; for the people of his world, for his friends and companions and . 

He shook his head, messy blond locks shifting with the movement. He began to hum a descant as he lifted Tyrving and the sheath up to point at the amassed army below him. The descant progressed, rising, and then falling, a tremolo, and then an alto note threading through the tune as the sword and sheath drew their patterns in the air. The descant summons of Hecatoncheire rose into the sky and descended into the earth, the pebbles on the mountainside beginning to tremble, the trees shivering with movement. The ground beneath his feet began to shift and shake as below, in the pass, beyond the roadway, the giant hundred-legged earth-shifter rose from the soil. Billows of dirt exploded into the sky turning the air yellow-brown with haze and the rumble of the quake escalated to a crescendo that deafened anything with ears. Long minutes passed until the rumble subsided, and the dusty haze began to clear and Keith could see that great chunks of the pass had shifted and moved, cascading down onto the forefront of the army, burying men, equipment and weapons beneath several tons of soil and rocks. 

But beyond the devastation of the quake zone the rest of the army waited, men running to the fore with tools and equipment to clear the debris. This would never do, no, this would never do. Keith's brow creased in a slight frown as he lifted Tyrving up again, crossing it with the sheath as he made ready his greatest, and most devastating magical assault. He hesitated only a moment, questioning his motives, his actions, and then shook his head; this was for the people, this was for his friends, this was for. He stopped that thought and began his descant, a disharmonious trilling that warbled up and down the scale, his hum a discordant sound reverberating in the Transval Alps. Suddenly, mid-note, a black mist built up and moved down the mountain and out over the army arrayed below; and as the mist swept the area like a scythe, it left death in its wake. Men suddenly collapsed where they stood, their skin blackened with disease and rot; screams of fear and pain and sudden deep despair climbed up out of the mist and the air was redolent with the smell of death.

Keith ceased his descant and re-sheathed Tyrving, watching in horror at what happened below. He knew the consequences of giving them his Gift. He knew the results intimately, having used it against his foes on Neameeto; but this was different. These were men; flesh and blood of this earth, not demons or hell-spawn, and it left a bad taste in his mouth as he turned to climb back through the pass, refusing to change his form for easier traveling lest he flee the world of men and the horror of this war, and remain trapped as a bat forever. Behind him lay death, behind him the soldiers that survived would clear a path and continue onward, to lay siege to Rumania; but Keith could not bring himself to do more. It was in man's hands now, this war. It finally occurred to him that he had stepped beyond his duties; he had taken action against foes that were not his, foes that were merely men following their own code. His had been a righteous cause, to keep safe the little people, the common man; yet it was the common man he had just slaughtered. This was not a battle to save the world, but a war of politics.

'Where did I stop being a defender?' he thought, suddenly shaken at his realization. 'Pipi and Renne would both call me 'Lord' and defender; but that slaughter was not defending.' He sighed as he climbed the last mountain path the lead south toward Fokshani. "I have strayed from what I know," he said as he stopped to catch the breath he never lost. Looking out over the lower valley he suddenly felt very homesick; missing his castle, missing the people of Bistritz. Perhaps, no matter how long he looked, he would never find. "I am going home," he said to the air and slipped then into the form of a bat and flitted north for Tîrgu Mures.

Full summer came to the mountains and Bistritz bloomed with flowers, summer grains and laughing children. Isolated as they were from the rest of the world, the war did not seem to touch them. Michelle still ran her little shop and taught the children and Nina and Gregor still played in the garden. But they also spent time walking up to the castle at least once a week. The garden had blossomed into a beautiful haven for bees and butterflies and the roses and lavender blossoms filled the garden with heady fragrances. 

At nearly thirteen, Nina was blossoming as well, turning from a precocious child into a young woman. Gone were the little pony tails, and now her long auburn hair was worn in a neat braid, twisted around with a ribbon and pulled up to the nape of her neck. Gregor too had grown, only a little taller, but filling out as boys will and his voice was changing, dropping down to an occasional basso that said he would one day have a voice as deep as the nearby woods. Every time his voice would crack, Nina would giggle and hide her smile behind her hands, but she sympathized with her friend as they walked companionably through the garden.

"When do you think the Lord of the castle will return? It's been long months since you said he left," Gregor asked and Nina looked back up at the castle walls, the front gate keeping its closed, silent vigil. 

"I don't know, Gregor. I hoped he would return by summer; but maybe he's off battling to save the world. He did last time you know," Nina answered.

Gregor chuckled to hear Nina's interpretation of Lord Keith's wandering visits. No doubt the young lord was off visiting some friend in France or Britain, dallying with beautiful maidens in some country village. Why stay here in boring little Bistritz when the world awaited the educated, the elegant, the wealthy. Someday he too would be wealthy and be able to get Nina all the fancy things that a beautiful young lady should have; a beautiful house and garden, a carriage with horses, even servants to do the hard work. 

Nina smiled, knowing Gregor was thinking his thoughts again. She had no idea why he would suddenly stop what they were doing to think, but his brow would always furrow and his pale green eyes would grow intense like the forest in summer, and she could almost see the thoughts forming in his mind. What they were he had never yet told her, only smiling embarrassed that he had paused in their playing. But Nina didn't mind; she thought Gregor was charming, if still a bit shy, and enjoyed his company. 

Turning down a small path in the garden, she led him to the lower corner where a bower had been added, a stone seat placed just so to catch the warm sunlight and thick canes of fragrant red and yellow roses redolent with perfume climbed the trellis archway. Together they sat on the stone seat and Nina held Gregor's hand, content to share the silence of the garden and to dream of tomorrow.

In early winter Keith Valentine arrived in Tirgu Mures. He was covered in road grime and dirt and, disreputable as he looked, no one would have taken him for a lord of any castle. He stopped at the inn, taking a small room upstairs then ordered a bath. Soaking in the fragrant soapy water brought him both cleanliness and relief; he relaxed into the hot water and let the warmth wash away the dirt, the deep fatigue, and the guilt. Not that he felt any better about his actions these past months, but it helped to put it into perspective. Yuri and Alice had been gone from his life these past two years; living or dying he knew not which. The old Adept, Zhuzhen, had returned to China and, no doubt, fought against both magical enemies and the Japanese. The young boy, Halley, he knew had taken a boat to America; had seen him and his mother off at Southampton himself. That had been the last day they had all been together. Zhuzhen had taken boat for Asia later that day, and Margaret had boarded the ferry for La Havre. That had left Keith and Alice and Yuri to spend one last night together. They had shared a meal and a play and Keith had watched the by-play between the two, knowing that they were deeply in love and too shy to admit it. Finally he had left them, wishing them both a bright future, and returned to his beloved castle; the same castle that he had wanted to bring . ah, but that had been a dream in another life. 

Shaking himself, Keith climbed from the bath and, donning a robe, returned to his room. Tomorrow or the next day after, he would set foot on the road to Bistritz once more. But tonight he would rest in a bed, like a normal human, and perhaps slip into sleep for a bit; not too long, just a few hours to pass the time.

December of 1916 brought disaster after disaster. The German army broke through the passes and finally conquered Rumania with the taking of Bucharest. The English and French and Germans died in the millions as they battled for a few thousand yards of trench lines at Verdun and the Somme and the blood soaked soil of Flanders would ever after bloom red poppies to remember the dead. In Bistritz, snow covered the ground again, the upper mountains capped deeply with ice and the lakes frozen over like glass. At the little items shop, Christmas brought a celebration as Nina and Gregor announced they intended to wed; Michelle smiled, thinking them both too young. 

"I will be fourteen next summer mother; I want to marry Gregor and he wants to marry me. His mother agrees, so why can we not?" Nina said, not quite stomping her foot, remembering she was trying to act older, more mature.

Michelle's smile broadened. "Well, if it's next summer we're talking about then."

The two young lovers continued their walks together, mostly around the village now as the castle was surrounded by snow and the garden asleep once again for the winter. Neither thought of the castle during the bright holidays that they shared together, and so neither saw the lone figure approaching the castle on Christmas morning.

And in Tirgu Mures, Keith Valentine awoke from his nap, refreshed and ready to return to his traveling. He paid his bill and set out that afternoon, little thinking that he had slept for a month and that while he had rested the world had changed again. 

He approached the little town of Bistritz in the early sunset of Twelfth Night; the crunch of snow beneath his boots was the only sound he had heard for the last day, the mountain passes filled with snow preventing other travelers from continuing their journeys. Keith stepped through the western gate of Bistritz and stopped to look at the ancient church; the structure had been in near ruins when he had awakened from his long slumber over two years ago; now it was alive with candlelight. A children's choir was singing and he stopped at the main door to listen to their sweet voices. He heard a lower voice, belonging to the instructor, then a lone voice rise sweetly in holy melody. A little smile wormed its way onto Keith's face and he found himself listening with all his heart to the little voice singing in the church. But finally it too subsided into silence and Keith shook himself, returning to the frosty road through town. 

He stopped at the items shop, knocking on the door but no one came to answer and he wondered where Michelle or Nina could be, but did not tarry, instead heading out the east gate and into the dark forest. Winter hoar hung from gnarled branches and hungry wolves howled their lonely cries, their voices echoing like ghosts in the silent woods. Keith made silent progress up the narrow path to the castle gate, wondering what welcome he would have in the cold, empty castle.

Trudging the last hundred feet up the path to the castle gate, Keith paused; the rows of torches, left unlit upon his departure, were flickering with warm and welcome light. The garden to his right was asleep for the winter, but footprints left their wandering patterns in the crusty snow, while above at the front gate, the gate was up, the door slightly ajar.

"Do you expect me, castle?" he asked but shook his head. No, the castle would expect no one, not even its owner. "Intruders?" But what intruder would set out lights on the path? Again, Keith shook his head and climbed the last few feet up the path to the stairs. He did not hesitate again, moving up the stairs to the door and pushing it open with his right hand even as he stepped inside. 

All was dark within, and the key hung on the peg behind the door. Glancing up to the left, he saw the tower door still closed. The far door to his chambers was also closed but he crossed the intervening corridor to the stone stairs and climbed them quickly, to push open the door to the right. Inside, his personal room was dark and quiet. With a thought the candelabra lit, sending warm yellow light throughout the room, lending brilliance to the otherwise dull red carpet and old paintings. But with one look he could see that no one sat on the Lord's throne, indeed, no one had been in the room at all. That left the coffin room, with the resting places of his ancestors.

Quickly he ran back to the main stairs and took the left path, going up and around the main entrance and then down to the corridor on the right, taking the stone steps three at a time until he reached the main room and the array of eight coffins, their sconces unlit. Above, on the dais sat his own coffin, its interior lined with scarlet velvet. But what caught his attention was the prone figure lying across the steps. With vampiric strength, he leapt across the distance, landing lightly at the foot of the stairs and the body lying on them. He set Tyrving at his feet and knelt down, pulling the head back slightly to see the face. 

"No," he whispered. It was Margarete, thin and battered, dried blood still encrusting face and tattered clothing, blonde hair dyed brown and cropped short; he would not have recognized her any other time. He pulled her up into his arms and climbed the stairs to the dais and his waiting coffin. Without a second thought, he laid her in the coffin and pulled up the silk coverlet. 

"A Sending," he said aloud, "Send for the medicine woman," he instructed and he could hear the awakening whispers of the castle as they did his bidding, acknowledging the Lord's return. Placing a hand gently on Margarete's neck, he felt for a pulse, finding it but faint and thready. "Hold on, Margarete. Help is coming," he told her softly and waited for the old woman to come from Bistritz.

Spring came with a riot of flowers in the castle garden and the herbs added to the fragrant perfumes of the roses. At the bower, Margarete sat with her hands resting in her lap, watching the two young lovers from Bistritz as they sat by the fountain. She breathed the clean fresh air and smiled, enjoying the quiet. A little before noon Keith came and joined her, his blond hair neatly combed and trimmed; gone were the straggling dirty locks that she had seen when she awakened in his coffin late last January. Now he stood tall and gallant in his finery and it made her smile to see him play the courtier with the young lovers. When he finally approached her, she scooted over to make room on the bench, tapping the stone seat with one hand. With a nod, he joined her, sitting in the fragrant bower, the distant giggles of the young people and the flutter of the occasional visiting bird and the gurgle of the fountain the only sounds in the garden. Finally he turned to look at her, his green eyes seeing deeper than the surface of short blonde hair, brown streaks still on the tips, and freshly scrubbed face and hands.

"How are you feeling today, Margarete?" he asked.

The young spy from France smiled at him and nodded toward the fountain. "I'm fit as a fiddle; but I don't think I could keep up with those two yet," she said.

Keith did not respond, instead looking back at the fountain. Gregor and Nina had become constant visitors since that night the healer woman had arrived from Bistritz. It wasn't often a summons came from the castle, especially one borne on night-mists and batwings; and once word had reached the small town that the lord of the castle had returned with an injured companion, the locals sent up baskets of bread, tureens of soup, and cups of nuts drenched in sweet honey. But although the largess of the villagers was appreciated, it was the medicines that helped Margarete back onto her feet; the medicines and something else that Keith had yet to mention.

"I am sure you will recover in full, Margarete," Keith said at last, turning back to face the younger woman. He reached across and took one of her hands, holding it firmly and gently in his own, not quite possessive but not releasing her either. Margarete looked at the hand before turning her blue eyes to look up at Keith, a slight tilt to her head asking the question her voice did not.

"There is something I must say to you, Margarete, now that you are feeling better," the vampire lord said, the thumb of his hand gently caressing the soft flesh of Margarete's right hand.

"What is it, Keith," she prompted.

Keith took a breath and looked out again at the fountain. The two young lovers had departed, walking down the path toward the herb garden, Nina's giggles telling the tale of Gregor's sweet words.

"The night I found you here, you were gravely injured. I was unsure if you would survive the night. I summoned a healer," he said.

"I know. I've seen the old woman. She does a marvelous job with her brews and potions. But that's not what you want to say, is it?"

Keith shook his head, tilting it down so that his hair fell across his brows, effectively hiding his green eyes from Margarete's close inspection.

"No. But there was more to that night than just the healing herbs. You should know that," he stated and then looked up to capture her glance with his intense look. "The herbs alone would not have been strong enough to assuage the deprivations you had suffered. Your wounds were great and you had lain all unattended here in the winter cold; you would have died," he said firmly.

"Yes, I would have. But-"

"-but for the few drops of Life's Elixir that I instilled within the medicines," he finished quickly.

Margarete stared intently at Keith, his calm demeanor denying that he felt anything of excitement or concern. But she felt his pulse reflected in her hand; or was that her pulse that raced so? She saw herself, mirrored in his eyes, and wondered what he saw when he looked at her. She had always thought him handsome, if a bit 'old world'. But he had been fun to tease, as much as Yuri, on their journey to defeat Albert Simon. She had liked him instantly, but was never sure what he felt about her. until now.

"What exactly did you do?" she asked carefully, not giving anything away by the tone of her voice.

Keith stared at the calm young woman and hesitated, all the words he had planned to say slipping away as he looked into her pale, serene face. 

"I - I put a few drops of my blood in each potion," he finally said.

Margarete blinked. "Your - your blood? _That's_ the Life Elixir?"

"Yes, it has certain properties that can be beneficial when used in moderation," he blurted then stopped, looking into her eyes. Suddenly he laughed, a little chuckle that lifted the guilt from his mind. "I would not have done so but to save your life, Margarete," he finished.

Margarete thought about his words, both spoken and unspoken. He did have feelings for her then, or he would not have put his own blood into a medicine in order to revive her. Or would he?

"It's not something you vampires do on a regular basis?" she said with a smile.

"Ahm, no actually it isn't," Keith said and then laughed again. "You understand that what I did brings with it an obligation?" he asked.

Margarete considered what kinds of obligations blood would entail. "No," she finally said with a shake of her head. "Why don't you tell me, Keith; and let's be frank and honest, all right?"

Keith, still holding Margarete's hand in his, nodded, willing to forgo the formality he had used as a barrier between them.

"The blood implies an obligation on my part, Margarete," he started only to be interrupted by Margarete's laugh.

"Oh don't tell me it means you have to protect me forever, or some such nonsense! Those are just old tales, Keith," she said, her smile lighting her face and her blue eyes dancing for the first time in months.

Keith shrugged. "Well, it is true, I'm afraid, which is why it is simply not done unless the vampire wishes to be concerned with the welfare of the one he, or she, has saved."

Neither spoke after that, Margarete thinking over what she now knew to be true; Keith would never have saved her if he didn't care. Suddenly her whole world tilted, and her breath became short. Her complexion, not yet rosy, turned quite pale and she looked to Keith like she would faint. He quickly put a supporting arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

"Margarete," he said.

"I-I'm all right, Keith. I'll be fine in a minute," she said, not feeling fine at all. 'How could I have let this happen,' she suddenly wondered. 'He feels something for me; maybe even loves me... what the hell do I do now?' her thoughts tumbled through her like leaves in a breeze, settling finally into the basket that said, she didn't mind him caring.

"I - I never thought you would really care for someone, Keith. I mean, you're always so distant," she finally said.

Keith nodded and sighed, offering her a tentative smile. "Do you know what I was doing before I found you? Where I was?"

"No," Margarete said, shaking her head.

"I had started out looking for you. Belated I admit, after receiving your letter some time before. I was concerned because you were alone; fighting in this war with no one to succor or support you. I did not find you; instead I found the war, and the dispossessions and destructions that have been heaped upon the people of this country." Keith shook his head. "I fought beside men to help the people of this land; much as I did with you and Yuri and Zhuzhen. But I also killed; I killed soldiers true, but they were men as well, men following their own lives and destinies." Keith paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I cut short those destinies and I realized something while doing so: that I was not Yuri Hyuga, to go tramping my way through battle after battle, using my strength and power to change the world. I made a grave mistake in doing so. I am - ashamed of my actions. You could say that I used your injuries as propitiation..."

"And is that all it was? Assuaging your conscience?" Margarete felt hurt but buried it behind a long worn professional veneer. She pushed away from Keith's supportive embrace and moved away, pulling her hand free and crossing her arms over her chest. She felt suddenly chill in the spring air and wanted nothing more than to go back inside the cold and drafty castle. If he had followed her, she reasoned, if he had fought in the war while trying to find her, didn't that mean he cared? More than he was admitting?

"No, it wasn't," Keith said and then rose from the stone bench, offering his hand. "You're cold, you should go inside. There is a fire in the main chamber; perhaps you would also like some soup?"

Margarete looked up into Keith's clear green eyes and saw something she would never have dreamed to see: his eyes laughing, and his lips smiling with genuine mirth.

"Soup it is," she said, and they walked back trough the garden to the main entrance to the castle, hearing behind them the chirp of birds and Nina's infectious giggles.

1917 and summer brought a change in the war; the Americans joined the Allies and would send troops to support the French and British trench lines in late June. In mid June, the third battle at Ypres, called Passchendaele, would begin. And in July T. E. Lawrence and the Arabs would successfully cross the deep desert and conquer Aquaba. But in Bistritz, the war was a long way off; spring blossoms had given way to summer bounty with both foods and flowers making their presence felt in the market. Large baskets of roses and herbs from the castle garden made their way to the local street faire weekly and by mid June, there was a bustling in the little church at the end of the road, for the Banns had been read and Nina and Gregor were to be wed in July.

Gifts flooded the little items shop from as far away as Shanghai China, and London England. Zhuzhen and Quihua sent a dress of the finest silk, embroidered with gold thread. Alice sent a family bible and Yuri a little sketch of Nina, her mother and Keith, taken from memory of their visit there. Local friends and artisans pooled together to bring gifts for bride and groom and all hands were used to prepare the church. Finally, the day arrived and the young lovers met in the church where, before God and man, they declared their love for each other and were married. To one side of the little church, in the pew reserved for royalty, Keith Valentine and Margarete Zelle sat observing the ceremony; Keith with quiet dignity, Margarete with curiosity. And as the choir sung out the final song and the newly wed couple exited the church, Margarete turned to Keith.

"Do you think you would ever marry, Keith?" she asked.

Keith shook his head. "It is not necessary. I am content, if you are," he paused and looked at her warm and happy face. "I did remember to say you would live longer now, didn't I?" he asked, half teasing. Margarete gripped his hand with her strong finger and laughed softly.

"You'll never be rid of me now, vampire," she said quietly. Keith's only response was a smile large enough to break hearts.

They had lived together in the same castle now since the ides of January and Margarete, who was much more the modern woman than Keith a modern man, declared she was unsuitable for marriage, but would happily live with him if he would have her. Keith, struck nearly dumb by the suggestion, had happily agreed. They too then followed the happy couple from the little church at the end of the street, walking arm in arm, stopping to say a kind word to a local mother, or helping up a fallen child, or offering to help a local farmer, like the any grand couple of nobility, they strolled their way back up the forest road to the blue castle at the top of the mountain road.

  


* * *

[i] "Yes that is true, my friend. I, a thief, would rather steal the lady's jewels; but what if her husband should arrive, eh?"


End file.
